BITTER SWEET
The black Maybach glided to a halt before the VIP entrance of the Sinclair Citadel, the engine humming a low, predatory vibration that mirrored the tension radiating from Lowin Vance. Inside the plush, leather-scented backseat. Amilah was draped across his lap, her breathing shallow and rhythmic, lost in a deep, exhausted sleep. Lowin’s large hand moved in slow, hypnotic circles over the soft curve of her stomach, his touch possessive even in the silence. In the front, Mark glanced at the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting the cold gaze of his boss. He hesitated to cut through his boss's thoughts and he turned his head to glare at Tom in the passenger seat, but Tom ignored him entirely, shifting his gaze out the glass. There was absolutely zero chance Tom was going to be the one to disrupt
- Writer
